A Good Cloak and a Short Friend
by digitalScribbler
Summary: Welcome to the world of the Lord of the Rings... with a Sherlockian twist! Join Sikahonda and Jago H. Whitfoot on their journey to unravel the mystery as deep and mysterious as the Middle Earth itself, and not without a few surprises along the way! Mostly fluff, rating subject to change.
1. Chapter 1

Hello y'all! This is my first (official) fanfic here on . I was inspired on January 19th while my friend and I watched a full-on marathon before the release of Season 3 here in the USA. The following crazy insanity ensued about a week or two later. I'm up to Chapter 3 as of now, but not for long! I will post as I finish, which will range from a few days to a few weeks to (possibly and with many apologies) a few months. PM me for any more info, questions, comments, concerns, cries of outrage, etc. etc.

**DISCLAIMER:** I DON'T OWN SHERLOCK... otherwise I wouldn't be writing fanfictions, now would I?

Chapter One

It was one of those warm winter days that were almost made for taking calm walk through the forest or a race through the clearings. The trees and flowers were all in full bloom, and the sun shone softly enough for the temperature to be pleasant and strong enough for it to be bright. It was the kind of day that should be savored and appreciated. It was the kind of day that Sikahonda was not prone to savoring.

Instead of being outside in the beauty of nature and the blinding sunlight, Sikahonda sat slouched on a rather worn old wooden bench staring with great concentration at what seemed to be nothing at all. In reality he was staring at the paper-covered gray stone wall of his adopted home, a cave high in the Misty Mountains and far from all other beings, sentient or otherwise.

His dark curly hair was unusual for one of his kind, as the pointy ears on the side of his head would testify. He had a skinny, lanky figure that allowed him to look even taller than he already was, and his piercing blue eyes were unusually sharp, taking in every detail around him with surprising speed and accuracy.

He slipped deeper and deeper into himself, but before he could settle in he was roused by an echoing knock from the right: a visitor. That was never a good sign.

"Just a moment!" he shouted to the unknown party. Heaving himself up, he walked briskly down a weaving stone corridor, muttering as he went along until at last he reached an unusually shaped wooden door. Another knock came; this time louder due to the fact that he was only door away from the one doing said knocking. *

He swung the door open to reveal an elf, for no other race could grow as tall. The figure wore a dark gray cloak that touched the snow-dusted stone ground. Their worn black boots peeked from beneath the thick fabric, and a few strands of dark hair, similar in color to Sikahonda's, hung from beneath the raised hood. The cloak had been mended in three places at the bottom with silver patches, making the owner obvious.

"Do you have a room for an old traveler?" the figure asked, a pale hand from inside its cloak reaching towards him. Sikahonda drew back slightly and narrowed his eyes, but despite the awkward situation he smiled slightly.

"Your old disguises don't fool me anymore, brother." He said as the traveler passed, still unbidden, through the door and began walking down the stone passage. Sikahonda closed the door shut, the snowflakes that had drifted in dotting his dark hair with white and the stone floor slick with water. "But you could still have the decency to remove your cloak when you come inside!" The traveler gave a short echoing laugh from down the hallway.

As Sikahonda walked back into his home, he was greeted by a rather pudgy elf who was looking at his paper-covered wall with amusement. His dark hair was long, in the traditional style of the elves, and his dark gray cloak was pulled back to reveal his long silvery tunic and black boots beneath.

"It's nice to see you again, Makar." Sikahonda said as he settled back onto his chair. Makar smirked.

"Is it really?" he mused, turning to face Sikahonda with a smirk.

"No, I was just trying to make conversation. Now," Sikahonda said excitedly, leaning forwards on the edge of the seat like an excited child, "What do you have for me?"

"It's an unusual case… which means you'll solve it quickly," His brother said, walking slowly across the small stone cave to an ornate red door with gold accents, which was tightly locked, "I think you may want to take this one, Sika."

"Get away from there," Sikahonda said angrily, getting up and swatting Makar away from the door, "And never call me Sika again."

"It would require you to room in town. Will you take the case?" Makar asked with raised eyebrows, walking slightly faster towards the other end of the room to the mouth of the tunnel.

"Do you know me at all?" Sikahonda said with a grin, "It's so boring being here alone. Of course I'll take it."

Makar turned and smirked.

"Very well." He said mysteriously before walking out of the room with a flourish from his cloak. Sikahonda smiled and shook his head as he followed, shrugging on his own black cloak on his way out.

"You were always the dramatic one, brother." He said as the siblings exited the house.

Makar pulled his hood up. "That's the pot calling the kettle black, Sika." He stated before walking away. Sikahonda frowned and ran after his older brother into the snowy midwinter's night.


	2. Chapter 2

Hello! This is not normal, I actually posted at a decent time. Don;t expect that to be a normal thing, I haven't written any of Chapter Two in a week or so. I hope you guys enjoy. As I said before, PM or Review to comment or ask questions, let me know if it needs any fixing!

**REPEATED DISCLAIMER:** See Chapter One

Chapter 2

The town of Rivendell is nothing short of majestic. Not majestic just in sheer ingenuity of the buildings, but also in the perfect balance achieved between the natural and unnatural. You could swear that the gracefully sweeping arches and the intricate open-air domes were made to mirror twining vines of a plant reaching for the sun. They use the trees and the water to not only enhance but to create their architecture.

Sikahonda and Makar arrived just at nightfall, when the sky is orange with dying light and the stars have just began to speckle the sky, reflecting on the falling water and making it look like molten gold.

"Do you have lodgings?" Makar asked as they walked down one of the stone paths.

Sikahonda glanced quickly at his brother. "How do you expect me to have lodgings when I just arrived?" he asked in disbelief.

"Sika, you know every one of the elves who live here, you saved half of their lives, and the other half owe you favors," Makar said, still looking ahead, "I think you can figure something out."

"Well, do you have a place to stay?" Sikahonda retorted, still walking.

Makar stopped. They had reached the first door of Rivendell, a small inn with rather friendly owners who Sikahonda had helped a few decades ago. He had gotten one of them off a robbery charge, and they had treated him well ever since. But it wasn't quite the place he was looking for - to far out-of-town, not central enough for clients to find him. He had a place in mind already.

"I have a place here, Sika." Makar said with what could be equated to a smile. "I have more influence here than you think. I've been busy in the world while you secluded yourself. I most sincerely hope you find a place to stay."

With that final farewell, if it could be called a farewell, Makar began to walk back the direction the pair came from. Sikahonda didn't bid him farewell, but he knew he would be seeing him again rather soon. His brother was never far from his life. Something about being worried for him. But there are more important things to attend to. Like finding his lodgings. Sikahonda looked at Makar's disappearing back for a few moments before turning towards Rivendell and walking inwards, to a small home owned by an old, old friend.

Sikahonda reached his destination as the sky turned deep sapphire and the silver stars speckled the sky. He knocked on the wooden door three times before admiring the swirling pattern. It was carved to resemble twisting nettles, but before too long a voice was heard on the other side of the door.

"Oh, just a moment dear, one moment." The voice of an old elven woman said from the building. The door then swung open to reveal one of Sikahonda's only close acquaintances: Hissaelbes, the elderly landlady of the small house.

"Oh, Sikahonda, come in! I wasn't expecting you to come around so soon, I have someone else staying here right now. Would you mind sharing until he leaves? Nice man, a bit on the short side though. Just back from fighting a dragon or something like that. " she said, leading Sikahonda into the small sitting room.

Its walls were papered in birch bark and adorned with a pattern in red leaves. A small stone fireplace dominated one side, and an assortment of wicker furniture topped in large pillows of soft moss dotted the messy room. Rather a lot flammable material, but it was as good as he would get in an elven home. An open doorway by the fireplace, all the way across the room, opened into a smaller room for cooking. It still housed much of Sikahonda's equipment for when he was in town.

"Make yourself comfortable. Jago - That's the one who's staying here - he should be back in a few minutes." Hissaelbes told him before busily leaving the room. She was probably making tea.

Sikahonda took off his cloak and hung it on the corner of a wicker bench before brushing some papers off of his chair and sitting down. Makar hadn't told him what the case was despite him asking multiple times. It could only be something big for his brother to come ask him personally. Couldn't be a robbery then, those were too easily solved. It was something good. Something like a murder. Sikahonda smiled. It was perfect. Murders were rare among the elves…

And a murder in Rivendell, he thought to himself, is the rarest of them all.


	3. Chapter 3

A bit late, but I told you so, so don't say I didn't warn you.

Finished late at night to the nagging of my parents, I hope it is of decent enough quality to pass your highly scrutinous expectations. Did I spell scrutinous right?

_**Disclaimer: See DISCLAIMER in Chapter One**_

Chapter 3

By a few minutes, Hissaelbes must have meant a few hours, because that was when Sikahonda heard a knock on the door for the second time of that day. He didn't bother getting up, however. If the person had been staying there, he obviously had the key to get in and didn't need a door keeper. He would, however, need an introduction so that he didn't try to kill Sikahonda when he walked in. Dragon slayers tended to be a bit high strung.

"Hello." Sikahonda called to the newcomer. He heard clanking, obviously a traveller with a lot of things or an extreme shopper.

"Hello yourself. How'd you get in here?" the voice of who could only be Jago asked back. there was the sound of a heavy pack hitting the floor and footsteps, then a short figure entered the room.

He was about the size of a young child, with tanned skin from travelling, sandy blonde hair that was cut neatly and short, and rather hairy feet. He was wearing a tan woolen tunic over a simple pair of brown leggings, all under a red, and he carried a flame-scarred wooden walking stick that obviously was needed, due to his limp. Sikahonda sighed and got up.

"I see you've been hunting dragons." Sikahonda said as he walked over to the fireplace. On the mantle was a small animal skull, remarkably resembling that of a dragon. He picked it up and examined it, looking over every inch with great interest, "Are you enjoying the game?"

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Jago asked.

"You've been hunting dragons, are you enjoying the wild game around here?" he asked again, putting the skull down and turning sharply to face his apparent roommate. Jago looked at him, obviously surprised.

"... Yes. It's good here - or was. None left anymore, all hunted away. That's why I'm staying here, to study elven medicine before I go back to the Shire. Jago Whitfoot, by the way. My friends call me John." the short man held out his hand for Sikahonda to shake. He held it there a few seconds before deciding the elf wasn't going to respond and withdrawing it.

Jago Whitfoot, two unusual names. Definitely not elf or man, not even orc. He could only be a hobbit. Sikahonda had never seen a hobbit in person before. The experience would be very useful for further investigation in crime.

"Do you enjoy the harp?" Sikahonda asked his short companion as he walked to his chair and sat in it facing Jago.

"It depends on the player. A well played harp is a treat for the gods. A badly played one, however…"

"I assure you, I am proficient. And you do not mind me experimenting with chemicals and coming home at absurd hours of the night?"

"I won't mind it if you don't wake me." Jago said, with a smile, "for both counts."

Sikahonda nodded, looking the hobbit up and down once more leaping to his feet. A few seconds later there was a knock at the door, making Jago jump and Sikahonda smile.

"What in Middle Earth would someone want here?" Jago inquired.

"That," Sikahonda explained as he quickly strode to the door, "Is a message for me."

"How would someone know you're here?"

"Here the very trees have eyes and the winds has ears, Jago, and if you know how to you can learn almost all of the goings on about town from them." Sikahonda said cryptically as he opened the door.

He returned to his seat shortly after with a message written in common script, though in a flowing and natural way suggesting of the elves. He took a moment to look over it before putting it down atop a pile of papers and, taking a quill, beginning to pen a response with a sheet from another stack. As he did Jago picked up the letter and, after reading it, looked up with shock.

"A suicide in Rivendell?"

"Apparently so. However," Sikahonda said as his pen glided across the page to sign it as a final flourish, "All may not be as it seems."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean foul play, Jago."

"Foul play? Among elves?"

"It is a distinct possibility. Though I, for one, prefer to spin theories to suit facts instead of facts to suit theories. You were a dragon hunter," Sikahonda said suddenly, "Saw a lot of violent deaths?"

Jago nodded, looking slightly past Sikahonda like he was remembering something he rathered he didn't. "Enough for a lifetime."

"Want to go see some more?"

**"Oh, god yes." **


End file.
